


A Masquerade

by vecchiofastidioso



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-17
Updated: 2014-12-17
Packaged: 2018-03-01 21:14:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2788007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vecchiofastidioso/pseuds/vecchiofastidioso
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Again, a fill for k!meme.<br/>"My request is twofold - I NEEEEEED costume porn for the poor Inquisitor and her inner circle/advisors. Could I please have a super tomboyish elf or human lady Inquisitor getting the makeover of a lifetime courtesy of Dorian and/or Vivienne? YES THANK YOU</p><p>Part the second: I want whichever dude is crushing on the Inquisitor (or more than one) to completely not be able to handle how well she cleans up. He wanted her when she was in leather and covered in dirt and blood, but when she's in a shmancy Orlesian gown with jewels all in her cleavage he goes nuts.</p><p>Cue: As much purple description of clothing as a person can handle and tons of sexual tension with love interest of choice as they try not to drool all over the expensive carpets. I have a slight preference for Lady Inquisitor/Cullen, but Solas, Blackwall or Bull are all fine, too."</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Masquerade

         If he had to choose a word for her, it would be _exquisite._  
         Solas had not been permitted to see the Inquisitor before the ball—none of the men save for Dorian were allowed to—so he had been curious as to whether or not she would arrive garbed in the dress uniforms someone had scrounged up for the Inquisition forces. A uniform the apostate disdained in favour of more simplistically elegant attire.  
         Soft, stormcloud-grey leather moulded to legs that, while slim compared to Commander Cullen’s (and most certainly in comparison to Iron Bull), showed musculature from striding across plains, through forests, up and down mountains, all across Thedas. As was the norm for Solas, his toes peeked out from the stirrups of his leggings, bracing leather wound around the feet and up to his knees. A snowy white shirt with billowing sleeves hid the lean muscle of his arms. The wide collar folded over, spread out over a blood red waistcoat shot through with delicate gold threads in deceptively delicate designs of vines and leaves, which hugged his lean torso. Much better than those heavy red coats with their gold braid, their ribbons, their sashes.  
         No rings adorned his fingers, no bangles his wrists. The ever-familiar necklace of a wolf jawbone was present, but tucked underneath the finery. Nobody need know what rested over his heart in a silent but ever-present memory.  
         He was curious as they waited for their lovely leader. A prevailing failing of his, he must admit. And yet, she had never disappointed him. Not to date.  
         Ah...and still she did not disappoint.

         Ze’ev poised, suddenly stricken with self-consciousness, while behind her came a rich chuckle. “Buck up, my dear. They’re eagerly waiting to see more of you,” Dorian murmured as he rested his hand in the small of her back. “I think I already see their jaws dropping. Shall we check?”  
         Delicately, long-fingered and tanned hands gathered up the flowing silk. The warm lighting cast a golden glow to cream fabric and caught at near-invisible embroidery depicting flowers, petals, feathers flowing over the folds. The light caught on the silver and jade gleam of rings on her left index, right thumb, middle, and pinkie fingers, and on the silver wrist band on her slim left wrist.  
         The cream fabric draped delicately from narrow shoulders in contrast to the Inquisitor’s skin which rivalled Dorian’s in warmth and depth of pigmentation, exposing the sleeveless but high-necked undergown of palest green to match eyes which practically glowed. Tasteful application of kohl around Ze’ev’s eyes—potentially her finest feature—and gloss on her lips turned the young mage into a vision of kissable innocence when combined with her gown. Her modest bosom was perfectly, completely covered, but the bodice was fitted so the slight flare of tiny waist to moderately wider hips was emphasised, combining ingénue and provocatrix in one.  
         Perhaps the crowning touch were the tiny, delicate, crystalline flowers twined into dark curls that were actually tamed above the downy soft fuzz surrounding the rest of her head. It didn’t look like a bird’s nest—albeit an adorable bird’s nest—on the top of her head, but as though star-like flowers were growing in the dark.  
         Dorian had proclaimed her a success as he tucked away the cosmetics the duo had hastily procured in (to her mind) a horribly over-priced shop prior to the masquerade. But she still held her breath as she descended the stairs to join her advisors and companions.  
         “I—you look wonderful, Inquisitor,” Cullen greeted her dazedly. He flushed when his reaction drew a chuckle from Leliana, but Ze’ev merely smiled slightly, almost coquettishly.  
         Varric merely let out a low whistle and grinned as he shook his head, but Solas...  
         Her green gaze found the Elf her heart was so delicately drawn to and found him staring. It was almost a dark expression, filled with hunger and a raw sort of appreciation. Something...almost primal. It made her throat seize up, her heart beat race, and muscles low in her belly clench.  
         Dorian, of course, followed her gaze, and let out a wicked chuckle against a delicate, pointed ear. “I _do_ believe we have a reaction, darling.”  
         The young mage managed a nod before her attention was fully claimed by the apostate before her, her hand engulfed in Solas’. Her eyes were riveted by his, locked in an unbroken gaze, as he lifted her hand to drop a courtly kiss to the back of her hand. “It cannot be said that you are a wallflower, _da’len_. Indeed, I suspect your only rival for attention will be Empress Celene.” He chuckled, the sound warm and dark, making Ze’ev’s fingers curl in his grasp even as he brought them for a kiss to her knuckles. “I look forward to watching all eyes turn to you in shock and admiration, _vhenan.”_  
         “I—thank you, Solas.” Somehow, Ze’ev managed a smile instead of gawking with a dopishly open mouth. Though her words were stilted her expression was gracious, and only the reddening of her ears gave her feelings away.  
         The Inquisitor doubted her lover would melt away into the décor either. He was not obviously a member of the Inquisition. His understated finery was not so understated that he could pass as a servant, but neither did he wear the uniform and sash, the braid and ribbons which adorned everyone else in the party. Even Varric. Even Dorian, and Ze’ev had to admit her friend bore it well. But it simply...suited Solas to be singular, unique, as he so often was. He carried an aura which set him apart. It was some of what drew her to him, the Inquisitor supposed.  
         Whatever the reason, it didn’t matter now. Now, she smiled. Her dark lashes veiled those spring starlight eyes, and full lips curved up in a teasing smile. “I fully expect to see you later, Solas. I do hope you can spare some time for me.”  
         “Oh, you can count on it, _da’vhenan_. But I believe now, your audience awaits.”

          _I do adore the heady blend of power, intrigue, danger, and sex that permeates these events._  
         Yes, Solas so enjoyed these aspects of the masquerade. But he enjoyed other things this night, and a smile graced his face as he set aside yet another glass of wine he’d been offered without even needing to request it.  
         He enjoyed the sight of his Lady Inquisitor—yes, the hedge mage believed he could claim her as his—with those jewel flowers in her hair. An inspired touch. He would have to congratulate Dorian on his ingenuity later. And Solas also appreciated the sight of young Lavellan floating about the ballroom in that maidenly vision of cream and palest green, the hidden embroidery visible only if one looked for it almost analogous to the power she leashed and kept hidden until its effect was necessary. He enjoyed her almost palpable excitement and watching her blossom into confidence that she looked beautiful.  
         As if there could be any doubt on that count.  
         Solas enjoyed the sight of her out on the balcony, moonlight catching on the jewels in her hair as it would on dewdrops delicately perched on young greenery. It emphasised the duskiness of her skin against the pale fabric which could not rival her skin in terms of softness and smoothness. He took a moment to drink it in, blocking access outside for any who would disturb the young lady. She drooped under the stars like a blossom bending under a strong wind, and as a blossom would, straightened and bloomed again when the pressure was eased. Her eyes softened, and lips that were so responsive to his ill-advised demonstrations of affection now reshaped from a frown to a welcoming smile.  
         “I’m not surprised to find you out here,” the apostate commented lightly as he joined his young lady. Indeed, she was less comfortable than he at the masquerade, less experienced. Even though Ze’ev had gained confidence and saved the day, so to speak, it made sense the Dalish mage would require a moment out in the breeze, the starlight, under the moon. And so, he did not begrudge her this moment away from the crowd, nobody demanding her attention save he. A part of Solas actually enjoyed the stolen monopoly of Inquisitor Lavellan, where nothing caught her attention but the Elf at her side and his hand low on her back. It made him playful, brought a smile to his face when he heard the music change.  
         “Come, before the band stops playing, dance with me.” Though phrased more as a command than a request, Solas knew Ze’ev didn’t mind. Those smoky-lined eyes, the kohl enhancing the stark lightness of green orbs so full of surprise, widened also in delight. He knew that smile, was not surprised at the feel of warm and delicate fingers settling into his proffered hand.  
         Ze’ev laughed softly when Solas gently twirled her into the proper position and her left hand fluttered to his shoulder. Delicate. Supple. Seemingly so fragile, but stronger than many could suppose. She let him lead her now, but Solas had yet to see her will dominated. That she let him control her in this...well, this, he would let himself enjoy.  
         “I should not be so surprised you can dance,” the young Elf commented mildly.  
         “Indeed. I’m not surprised in the least how graceful you are. It is a pleasure to lead you.”  
         If only they knew the picture they presented, the sight that drew the gaze of first a few, then more, then many of those who were not dancing in the ballroom. The dusky maiden and her confident, much paler companion. Two graceful beings, not merely because they were Elves but in addition to being Elvhen. Long limbs, perfect rhythm. Smiles directed only at each other, because each was the only world which mattered to the other at that moment. And the pale light of the night’s heavenly bodies favoured them with an ethereal touch. It added poignancy to the moment when the apostate—the herald obviously got it wrong when he announced the man as a serving man—bent down to brush his lips against the Lady Inquisitor’s.  
         So gentle.  
         So sweet.  
         So perfect, it brought more than one supposedly jaded noble to tears at the sight of the tiny hero of the hour clinging to white-clad arms, the gentle and protective way he embraced her and pulled her to his chest.  
         Perfection.


End file.
